


The Breath of Kings

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, in a fashion, shrinkyclinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:29:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9601655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The kilt dropped to the floor, along with the belt."You'd better clean that up."Steve swallowed. "Of course, Your Highness."





	

Steve made sure the door was shut before he looked around. Around the large bed hung heavy curtains, held back by golden ropes laden with vast tassels. The walls were painted a light pink, one that reminded Steve of the dress Lady Margaret had worn when she saw the royal yacht off, the day Steve had sailed from London to St. Petersburg. Overstuffed chairs were upholstered in the same fabric that the curtains were made from. As for the floor-

"Are you coming here or not?"

The voice cut through Steve's thoughts, and he cautiously stepped closer to the bed. He hadn't realized that the lights were on, though that would explain why he could see in a room with the curtains drawn over the windows.

"Well?" The voice demanded.

"I'm coming, sire." Steve quickened his steps, knowing how impatient his lord could be. He bowed before the bed. "Yes, sire?"

The Prince swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing up. "Help me out of this, will you?"

Steve looked up. The Prince wore a kilt of dark tartan, not the Royal Stewart that, despite being English, his father's side was allowed to wear, but the Hubbard of his Scottish mother.

"Of course, sire." Steve moved to stand in front of the Prince, his hands going to the belt which held the kilt up. There was a wishing sound, and Steve felt a sharp pain blossom across his hands.

"Not that, you fool. My shirt."

Steve corrected himself, his hands traveling upward to tug at the Prince's white shirt, which came out from under the kilt. Once freed, Steve began unbuttoning the shirt, stopping at the Prince's throat and moving to his right side to slip the cotton shirt from him before turning to his left side. Steve's hands trembled as he removed the shirt from what remained of the Prince's left arm, feeling nauseous as his eyes fell upon the heavy scarring that marred the pale shoulder.

"Forgive me, I forgot myself." Shirtless, the Prince sat on the bed and took off first one shoe, then the other. "I should have treated you better." He began rolling down the long socks he wore with his kilt. "It is my fault."

Steve folded the shirt and placed it in a chest of drawers before sitting next to the Prince. "Do not blame yourself, sire. That war changed you, you are more irritable now than you were before."

The Prince snorted. "You cannot blame a war for my actions." He finished rolling the socks from his legs and folded them, placing them on top of his shoes. When he straightened up, he turned to Steve. "Steven, you are my best and closest friend. I don't know what I would do without you. But, I sometimes think that you would be happier serving my sister, or one of my brothers."

Steve shook his head. "I wouldn't be happy at the German court. Or that of Bavaria, and especially not the Austro-Hungarian court. I like Balmoral, and London, and would never dream of leaving your side. Not after you came home from fighting the French." He was now keenly aware of close he was to the Prince, and made to draw away when a hand was placed on his arm.

"Stay." It was phrased more as a question than a statement, but carried all the authority that the Crown Prince of Scotland and England meant it to.

"Of course, sire."

The Prince stood, and there was a sound of metal clanking together as he struggled with his belt. The kilt dropped to the floor, along with the belt.

"You'd better clean that up."

Steve swallowed. "Of course, Your Highness."

The Prince walked around to the bed and got in. "Well?"

Steve took the point and turned off the light before climbing in on the other side, feeling much like a child again, although he knew the Prince often slept in only his drawers. But how to explain this to the Grand Duchess, who would surely ask after her fiancé, Steve did not know. He turned on his side so he faced the Prince, watching over him, as was his sworn duty.


End file.
